My earliest memories involve my dad freezing a glass of milk and convincing me it was ice cream.
Needless to say, milk and coffee are my not so favorites.
Coffee houses, though, have magic.
Beside the skinny jean, skinny people and skinny stache stereos,these houses brew more than coffee and atmosphere.
There's an old love structure, acting as a home for lost soul character.
It's less of the familiarity in a face, and more the affinity in the smile. Home.
The couches and chairs aren't solely for sitting, but for setting conversation.
Tables hold books, laptops and lamps, but mostly they hold stains from yesterday
and befores convo cleanse. The Familiar.
My old friend sits across the table studying Arabic with his trusty cinnamon
roll by his side.
And in this, I have learned to consider my not so favorite, and favor it.
